


Irrational Behavior

by Brumeier



Series: As Seen On TV [14]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bones Fusion, Case Fic, Explosions, First Kiss, Forensics, M/M, Minor Injuries, Skeletons, Stalking, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: The Collector is sending Rodney random bones, and Agent Sheppard will do whatever it takes to put a stop to it.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: As Seen On TV [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1026666
Comments: 29
Kudos: 103
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 10





	Irrational Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> TV Fusion: Bones  
> H/C Bingo: bodyguards

The box was on Rodney’s desk, unremarkable in every way. Rodney hadn’t thought twice about opening it up, just like he did with every other package and piece of mail that was delivered to his office. Organizations were always sending him requests or gifts.

No-one had ever sent him a neatly cleaned patella.

“You’re over-reacting.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Someone sent you a kneecap, McKay. Personally addressed, to your office.”

“It has to be the Collector,” Parrish said. “Right? I mean, we’re all thinking it.”

“If you’re thinking it, keep it to yourself until we have actual proof,” Rodney snapped. “I suggest we learn everything we can from the patella before making any determinations.”

He didn’t like to make guesses, particularly not where the Collector was concerned. That didn’t mean he wasn’t alarmed at what was clearly an escalation if this latest bone had indeed been sent by the Collector. The others had been left at crime scenes.

“I’ll swab for particulates,” Parrish said, looking properly chastened.

“And I’ll get back to that facial reconstruction I was working on. You know. Before.” Lorne fled to his office.

Rodney hooked Sheppard by his tie. “With me, Agent.”

“I’m not a dog, McKay,” Sheppard protested. But he didn’t stop Rodney from dragging him off the forensics platform and back to the office.

“I don’t want you getting my people riled up for nothing,” Rodney said, relinquishing his hold on Sheppard’s tie. He crossed his arms and raised his chin, daring Sheppard to argue. 

Sheppard dropped down on the sofa, straightening his government-issue tie and smoothing down his government-issue suit. The only pieces of his uniform that weren’t standard were his bare ankles – the man didn’t care for socks – and his fighter jet belt buckle.

“Your safety isn’t nothing.” Despite his causal posture, Sheppard sounded deadly serious.

“A patella isn’t a threat, it’s just a bone,” Rodney insisted. “And I might point out that I was never in this kind of position before you conned me into working crime scenes with you. I’m a forensic anthropologist, not a cop.”

“You’re my partner, McKay. And it’s my job to keep you safe. So until further notice, you don’t leave the Institute unless I or one of my guys is with you.”

Rodney was torn between being pleased at the prospect of seeing Sheppard more, and being annoyed at the implication that he couldn’t look after himself. Besides, the Institute was the safest place he could possibly be. Not even the President of the United States had the kind of security Rodney enjoyed every day.

Being annoyed was safer.

“I have work to do,” Rodney said. “You can see yourself out.”

He went back to the forensics platform, swiping his ID as he headed up the stairs. He needed to find out as much as he could about that patella.

*o*o*o*

“It’s definitely the Collector,” Carson said.

“McKay?” Sheppard asked for confirmation.

Rodney replied reluctantly, “This ulna comes from the same skeleton as the metatarsals left at the first crime scene.” He and the others were standing over the bone in question, which was on the lab table on the forensics platform.

The testing on the patella had been inconclusive, but that bone had been swiftly followed by three others, each in increasingly decorative packaging. All sent directly to Rodney.

“I’m putting someone on you 24/7 until we nail this guy,” Sheppard said grimly. 

“The Collector isn’t dangerous, Sheppard. All the bones he’s sent have been at least three hundred years old; he didn’t kill the people they belong to.”

Kate Heightmeyer, the FBI shrink who consulted on some of Sheppard’s cases, shook her head. “On the contrary. I think whoever is sending you these bones has fixated on you. That can be incredibly dangerous.”

“You mean a stalker,” Lorne said.

Rodney didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. He didn’t need any more bodyguards driving him between home and the Institute, or Carson inviting him over for dinner to make sure he wouldn’t be alone. Rodney’s people were getting distracted, and surely there were other cases Sheppard needed to be working on.

“Everyone needs to get back to work. This Collector business is a distraction and nothing more.”

“Rodney,” Carson said.

“No. We have other projects that take precedence over a handful of random bones from an indeterminate source.” Everyone stared at him. “What?”

“I’ll have my people analyze the packaging,” Sheppard said, breaking the silence. He was smirking, for reasons Rodney couldn’t understand. “Buddy system for Dr. McKay, everyone.”

“I don’t need –”

“Later!”

Sheppard sauntered off, Rodney glaring at his back.

*o*o*o*

“You don’t need to walk me to my door,” Rodney protested. “I’m not a schoolgirl on a first date.”

“Safety first,” Sheppard reminded him.

“You’re being ridiculous. You’re not my bodyguard.”

It was the truth, but Rodney was willing to admit – only to himself – that it was a little bit flattering, the way Sheppard took the perceived threat so seriously. Plus, there was something inexplicably hot about the way Sheppard pulled his weapon when they approached the door to Rodney’s apartment.

Rodney’s attraction to Sheppard was no secret. He’d approached the man about it early in their acquaintance, expressed his interest in a physical relationship, but Sheppard had turned him down. Nicely, but it was still a rejection. And Rodney was a genius, he could see the logic in not getting involved with his work partner. It had been awkward for a few days, but he’d gotten over it.

The attraction had never lessened. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Think of it more as me guarding your super brain,” Sheppard said with a smirk. “Stand back so I can clear the door.”

Rodney sighed but moved back after handing Sheppard his keys. “I assume you’ll be looking under my bed just to be thorough.”

“Yeah. I’ll flush the monster out of your closet while I’m at it.”

“Very funny. You’re such a –”

Rodney was thrown off his feet before he even registered the explosion, hitting his head hard on the floor. He lay there, stunned, ears ringing so loud he couldn’t hear anything else. It was only an unfocused sense of urgency that got him up on all fours.

Something was wrong. Something. Some _one_.

“Sheppard!” 

Rodney couldn’t hear his own voice, and he could barely see anything because the hallway was thick with smoke. Panic choked him.

“John!”

His brain, sluggish as it was, started calculating mass and acceleration in regard to the possible damage that would’ve been done to Sheppard in the blast. He would’ve borne the brunt of it.

Something stung at the palms of Rodney’s hands and it took him far too long to realize it was the splintered remains of his front door. Longer still to figure out Sheppard was lying beneath it, terrifyingly still. Which could only mean the explosion had emanated from Rodney’s apartment.

Rodney pushed off the chunks of the door and felt for a pulse; he found it, weak and thready but there.

“Stay with me, John.” 

Rodney fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone, which he had to hold close to his face so he could see the keypad and dial 911. He waited until the screen showed the call was connected before he started talking, requesting immediate assistance. He only hoped there was someone on the other end. When he was done he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

He knew better than to try and assess Sheppard for injuries, not with his own head in a fog and his vision compromised. He’d likely do more harm than good.

“Help’s on the way. So you stay with me, you asshole.” Rodney fumbled around for Sheppard’s hand. “I’m right here.”

*o*o*o*

“So, what? This whack job is in love with me?”

“Not necessarily.” Kate leaned against the wall of the waiting room, eyes tracking Rodney as he paced back and forth. “The Collector could view you as a platonic partner, someone who shares a love of the human skeletal system. You’ve been getting a lot of press since you started working with Agent Sheppard.”

“He saw Sheppard as a rival?” Rodney asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

He enjoyed working crimes with Sheppard more than he’d admit. The thrill of the chase, the ability to use his knowledge of forensics and human bone to bring murderers to justice and give closure to families…it was rewarding in a way identifying bones hundreds of years old was not.

Rodney was worried he was turning into an adrenalin junkie.

“Yes, I’d say he does,” Kate replied. “What’s worrying is that even with the increased FBI presence in your life, the Collector was able to get close enough to know that Agent Sheppard would be the first one through your door. Otherwise he wouldn’t take the risk of injuring you.”

“Wonderful.”

Rodney stopped pacing and dropped into one of the uncomfortable chairs that lined the room.

“What happened wasn’t your fault, Dr. McKay,” Kate said kindly.

“I know that!” Rodney snapped in reply. “This is all Sheppard’s fault. Dragging me out to crime scenes, calling me his…his partner. I’m not an FBI agent! I should’ve gone to Peru, been part of the team excavating that burial site. That’s important work!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t I what?”

“Why didn’t you go to Peru?”

Rodney looked down at his hands, which were wrapped in gauze. He’d cut up his palms moving that door off Sheppard.

“He had a case. Someone he knew from his days in the Air Force, so it was personal. I stayed to help.”

Kate sat down next to Rodney and put a hand on his arm.

“You cared more about Agent Sheppard’s well-being than academic notoriety. That’s a big step for you. And an important one.”

“So I’m not the arrogant asshole everyone thinks I am?” Rodney asked sarcastically.

“No-one on your team thinks that. And I don’t think you do, either.”

Rodney deflated. He was tired, he was sore, and he was worried that Sheppard’s physician still hadn’t come to talk to them about Sheppard’s injuries.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

“Do what you always do,” Kate said. “Find the Collector and make sure he can’t hurt anyone else.”

*o*o*o*

“There’s not much to go on,” Parrish reported. “The Collector did a good job cleaning these bones.”

“Not much isn’t nothing. What do you have?” Rodney stood in Parrish’s lab, arms crossed.

“The latest bone wasn’t as clean as the others.”

“He’s getting sloppy,” Carson noted. “Injuring John must’ve excited him.”

Rodney snorted. “Save the psychobabble for Heightmeyer. What did you find, Parrish?”

“There were particulates in the hairline crack on the tibia. It wasn’t a very big sample to work with, but I was able to find traces of carbon, hydrogen, sulfur, oxygen, and nitrogen.”

“Coal?” Rodney started to pace, walking past shelves holding live bugs and plants in clear containers and terrariums. “Where is there coal in the city?”

“The nearest active mining operation in in Mineral County, West Virginia,” Lorne reported. He pulled up a map on Parrish’s oversized monitor. 

“Perhaps he lives nearby?” Carson suggested.

Parrish shook his head. “I also found minute traces of brick dust. The composition suggests antique pavers. I cross-referenced with the Institute’s database of historic building materials, and the type of brick the dust came from was used primarily in the Cooper Heights area.”

Lorne grinned at Parrish. “King of the lab!”

Carson nodded. “Well done, lad.”

Parrish blushed. “Tell them what _you_ found, Evan.”

“I looked at the areas in Cooper Heights that have buildings made with the antique brick that also historically used coal-burning stoves.” Lorne pulled up another map. “Most of these places have been renovated, or rebuilt, but this two-block area between Wood and Mikita hasn’t been reached by revitalization yet.”

“I’ll get that information to Agent Mehra,” Rodney said. He turned and started to walk away, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Good work.”

*o*o*o*

“Are you an idiot?”

“Why? What have you heard?” Sheppard smirked at Rodney, who merely glowered back.

“You shouldn’t be out of the hospital, much less bed. You fractured your distal radius, you have four bruised ribs, not to mention countless lacerations caused by the door exploding out at you. I don’t even want to think about potential brain or organ damage.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes. “You examined all my x-rays, McKay. I’m fine. The explosion was more smoke than substance.”

Lucky, then, that the Collector was well-versed in bones and not explosives. Otherwise Sheppard would not be sitting behind his desk, hand in a cast, looking somehow rakish despite the extensive damage to his face. Rodney didn’t believe in miracles, but the fact that Sheppard’s insanely cowlicked skull had escaped unscathed would surely qualify as one.

There was a knock on Sheppard’s door, which was already open, and Agent Mehra stepped inside. She was tall, more-so with the heels she was wearing, and Rodney could tell just by looking at her bone structure and facial markers that she was at least partially Indian. He’d asked her about her ethnic background when they first met, but she’d only glared at him.

He wasn’t great at first impressions. Or so he’d been told.

“Weir is denying the warrant,” she reported. “The parameters are too vague.”

Everything about Agent Mehra was no-nonsense, from her shortly cropped hairstyle to her black pantsuit. Rodney much preferred working with Sheppard, who displayed more actual intelligence and personality.

“Yeah, I thought she would. Time for plan B.”

“I’m on it, sir,” Mehra said, and walked back out of the office.

“Plan B? What’s plan B?”

Sheppard leaned back in his chair. “We need to draw this guy out.”

Rodney didn’t like the sound of that. “Maybe my people can narrow down the search.”

“Your squints have done a great job,” Sheppard said. “But we both know you’re not going to get much more from those bones.”

“Parrish and Lorne are looking at the bomb fragments. The new intern is assisting them. Apparently she has some experience with explosives.”

The new intern was also young and pretty, and Rodney hadn’t missed Carson’s immediate interest in her. Bad enough Lorne and Parrish were dating. The forensics lab wasn’t a nightclub, for fuck’s sake.

“Good. Hopefully your squintern can help build up the evidence against this guy. But I have a quicker way to catch him.”

Sheppard was looking cagey, and Rodney had learned to dread that particular expression.

“Is it classified? Or do you plan on letting me know what it is?”

“We’re going out to dinner.”

Rodney frowned. “If you don’t want to tell me, fine, I can just –”

“That’s it,” Sheppard interrupted. “That’s the plan.”

“Dinner? That’s not a plan, that’s a meal. Wait.” Rodney was a genius, and maybe that didn’t translate to certain subtleties of interpersonal relations, but it was enough to suss out the FBI’s big plan to catch the Collector. “You’re using yourself as _bait_? You really are a moron.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, McKay.” Sheppard leaned forward across his desk. “I already talked to Kate about this. The Collector is jealous of me, hence the bomb. He sees me out with you, still in one piece, he’s going to be mad. And he’ll lash out. That’s when we’ll catch him.”

“You want to make him jealous by taking me on a date.”

“No, not a date. I didn’t use the word ‘date’. It’s just dinner.”

Rodney shook his head. “No. There has to be a better way. A smarter way.”

“I’ve dealt with this kind of guy before. He’s feeling warm and chummy toward you right now, but that’ll change. He’ll try and clear a path to you, go after anyone who’s close to you, and then when you don’t respond the way he wants, he’ll take his anger out on the object of his obsession.”

“Me.”

“You.”

Rodney could see the logic of that scenario. Kate had already said the Collector was fixated on Rodney because of the bones and his – correct – perception as being the top forensic anthropologist in the field. The Collector thought he was on par with Rodney, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Putting anyone else in danger was unacceptable. And Rodney was tired of sleeping at the Institute. He wanted his life back.

“This better work,” he said, jabbing a finger in Sheppard’s direction.

“Trust me,” Sheppard said with a grin.

*o*o*o*

Sheppard kept calling it an op, but Rodney sure as hell felt like he was on a real date. The FBI had made arrangements with Harmonia, a high-end restaurant in Georgetown. Everyone on site, except for the host and the kitchen staff, was undercover FBI. Rodney didn’t know if he should be comforted or not by the sheer amount of guns he was surrounded by, hidden though they may be.

Despite that, the ambience and the care Sheppard had seemingly taken with his personal appearance had Rodney feeling off-balance. Surely the Aqua Velva and black silk shirt weren’t strictly necessary to fool the Collector.

“How do you know he’ll show?” Rodney asked, trying very hard to keep his voice low. 

Most of the other diners were FBI, and the ones who weren’t had been seated as far from Sheppard and Rodney as possible.

“You talked about dinner, right? To everyone?”

Rodney nodded. “You think he’s watching me that close?”

“I do. But if I’m wrong, at least we’ll get a decent meal out of it.”

Rodney and Sheppard ate a lot of meals together. Lunches, most frequently, at either DeLuise’s or the Red Wonton, when they were working a case. Occasionally breakfast. After the successful resolution of a case, they’d often go out for drinks at Gero’s, with or without the rest of the team.

This meal was different, and not just because it was a trap.

“What are we supposed to talk about?” Rodney asked, fiddling with his silverware. “Current events? Politics? Sports ball?”

Sheppard huffed out a laugh. “Sports ball? No. How about this. Which is better? _Star Wars_ or _Battlestar Galactica_?”

“How can you compare the two?” Rodney asked, and they were off and running.

Everything else faded away until the world consisted of just him and Sheppard, doing that thing where they verbally sparred with each other and Sheppard proved to be far more intelligent than he liked to let on.

As fake dates went, it was one of the best he’d ever had.

*o*o*o*

“Time for Plan C?” Agent Mehra asked as Sheppard and Rodney were putting on their coats to leave.

“Yeah. I’ll let you know as soon as I figure out what that is.”

The Collector was a no-show, and Rodney had conflicted feelings about that. On the one hand he was ready for that guy to get thrown behind bars. On the other hand, maybe he’d get a second not-date with Sheppard out of the deal.

Rodney’s cell phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. “Carson. What is it?”

_We have an ID._

“What? How?” Rodney tugged on Sheppard’s arm and put the phone on speaker. “They have an ID.”

_Laura was able to pull a couple partial prints off some of the bomb fragments. Evan’s computer put them together for one full print. Sending you the image now._

“Go Squint Squad!” Sheppard said, leaning against Rodney as he looked over his shoulder.

Rodney expected a mug shot. Instead he got a professionally done portrait of a weasel-faced man with glasses and a ponytail, holding a very pretentious looking pipe in one hand.

_His name is Peter Kavanagh. He wrote a book called –_

“The Language of Bones,” Rodney interrupted. “His publisher sent me a galley to read. It was garbage.”

“You sent it back with corrections, didn’t you?” Sheppard asked, his breath hot against Rodney’s skin.

“What? Oh, yes. Of course I did.”

“Then why doesn’t he want to blow _you_ up?” Sheppard griped. He waved Agent Mehra over. “I need you to pull in Peter Kavanagh for questioning. I’m betting he lives in Cooper Heights.”

“I’m on it.”

“Thanks, Carson,” Rodney said. He ended the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “Will you be able to charge him?”

Sheppard nodded. “We can tie him to the bomb, and that’ll be enough to get a warrant to do a search of his house. Hopefully we’ll find the rest of the skeletons those bones belong to.”

“It’s not strictly illegal to own human bones,” Rodney pointed out.

“Only if he obtained them legally. And I’m betting he cut some corners there. The list of charges I can file against this guy just keeps getting longer and longer.”

Sheppard grinned and Rodney couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to the Institute. Maybe tomorrow night you’ll be able to sleep in your own bed.”

Rodney certainly hoped so. He was paying a fortune in speedy repairs, though most of the damage to his apartment had been focused on the door and the front wall.

Sheppard’s SUV was parked down the block. There was a nip in the air, and Rodney recalled that people had been speculating about getting some snow. As if the traffic wasn’t already bad enough.

“I’ll be glad to get rid of my babysitters,” Rodney said.

“Bodyguards,” Sheppard corrected. “And I’m sure they’ll be happy to resume regular duties, too.”

“Sure they will,” Rodney muttered.

“But you still have me.” Sheppard nudged Rodney with his shoulder.

“Small consolation,” Rodney replied without any real sarcasm.

“I wouldn’t say small.”

“Are you leering at me?”

Was Sheppard flirting with him? Honestly, he flirted with everyone. It was all part of his charm and overall sex appeal. But that comment had seemed suggestive in a way that had nothing to do with Sheppard’s usual level of flirtiness. 

“An FBI agent never leers.”

In the time it took Rodney to roll his eyes, he’d been knocked into a light post and Sheppard was on the ground, grappling with someone in a tan overcoat.

“Hey! Get off! He’s injured!” 

Without a thought for his own safety, Rodney surged forward and grabbed a double handful of that overcoat, pulling back with all his strength. He successfully peeled the assailant off Sheppard, but then found himself with an arm across his throat, inhibiting his airway.

Despite his injuries, Sheppard was on his feet in an instant, backup pistol from his leg holster in his hand, braced against the casted wrist.

“Let him go, Kavanagh.”

Gone was the cheerful, joking Sheppard. In his place was the flinty-eyed FBI agent who could take Kavanagh down with one well-placed shot if he wanted to. Sheppard was an excellent marksman.

Several other agents, including Mehra, appeared out of the darkness, weapons raised. Was that the Plan C Sheppard had mentioned?

“You don’t deserve him,” Kavanagh spat. Rodney could barely hear him over the rushing of blood in his ears. “He’s a genius, like me. He understands about the bones.”

“You hurt him and bones is all that’s gonna be left of you,” Sheppard snapped in reply.

Rodney considered what would happen to Sheppard’s already fractured distal radius if he fired his weapon. Time to institute his own Plan C.

Rodney took a step to the side and snapped his fist back into Kavanagh’s testes. When the man started to bend over, gasping in pain, Rodney brought that same arm up and caught Kavanagh in the throat with his elbow.

Kavanagh was in cuffs almost as soon as he hit the concrete.

“You okay?” Sheppard asked, clutching at Rodney’s arm. 

Rodney nodded, pulling in large, gasping breaths. “Fine. My hyoid is undamaged.”

“That was a pretty badass move, McKay.” Sheppard didn’t sound sarcastic. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It seemed logical to take a self-defense course once I started working crime scenes.” 

“Logical. Right. Are you okay if Mehra takes you back to the Institute?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Sheppard. Go do your thing.” 

Rodney waved him off but, to his everlasting surprise, Sheppard leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

“I’ll come see you after.”

In moments, Rodney and Agent Mehra were the only ones left standing on the sidewalk.

“Did he just kiss me?” Rodney asked.

“We’re not talking about that. Ever. Let’s go, Dr. McKay.”

*o*o*o*

“This is irrational behavior,” Rodney said, pausing to catch his breath. “You were the one who said the two of us having a physical relationship was a bad idea.”

“And now it’s a good idea. Just go with it, McKay.” Sheppard moved in for another kiss, one hand gently cupping the back of Rodney’s head.

Rodney was flush with a feeling of satisfaction. He’d been right, all along. However different he and Sheppard might be intellectually and in terms of personality, they were a perfect fit in this. Rodney could only assume the sex would be just as good, if not better, once their relationship advanced to that level.

If Sheppard kept kissing the way he was, that advancement would be happening sooner rather than later.

“Eight weeks,” Rodney gasped.

“What?”

“The minimum amount of time for your distal radius to heal. Eight weeks.”

Sheppard pulled back, brow furrowed. “Okay. Good to know.”

“We can’t have sex until you’re fully healed,” Rodney explained.

That earned him a grin. “I can handle myself, McKay.”

“You’ve clearly never had sex with me. You’ll need to be fully operational, trust me on this.”

Sheppard’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Better build my endurance, then.” Sheppard kissed him again, and Rodney swore his toes actually curled.

Sometimes it was rational to be irrational.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** When I saw the post that this round of h/c bingo was coming to a close, I checked my card. There were a couple of different ways I could get a bingo, with just one fic. I went with bodyguards because I’ve been inexplicably, and compulsively, binge-watching _Bones_ , which I’ve already seen all the way through. I figured I may as well do something with all this watching, so here we are. ::grins::


End file.
